Asylum
by Xenitha
Summary: A mental patient with a murky past discovers that the asylum is not a safe place to be.
1. Chapter 1

Asylum—Chapter One

Author's Note: This story isn't recommended for the faint of heart or the under-18 due to violence and language. I seem to like Scott-whumps, so I've written another one but I promise not to kill anybody except maybe a bad guy. Regarding reviews—PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. That's what I write for.

**Title:** Asylum

**Rating:** FRT, for violence. Scott Whump with angst for flavor.

**Teaser:** A mental patient discovers that the asylum is not a safe place.

**Disclaimer:** The Tracys aren't mine, they (and all the other characters originally in Thunderbirds) belong to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and whoever they have assigned the rights to. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's****Note:** This will be posted as a work in progress, translation: a WIP. Be assured I always finish my stories, and quickly.

**Feedback:** Yes, please. I write for feedback!

Okay to Archive: Yes!

He saw the open sky, filled with clouds, and was master of them. He flew faster and faster, then banked and saw the ocean shimmering below him. He knew that he'd soon be home and that there would be apple pie waiting and his family. He could almost see the faces and reached for the names in the back of his memory….

"Hey, you! Time to get up!" A loud voice cut through the sweet haven of sleep. Scott opened his eyes and saw the big orderly with the buzz cut standing next to his bed; it was the surly one, the one who disliked him. He started to sit up slowly and found his arm grabbed by Surly and he was pulled roughly upright.

"Time to get you cleaned and dressed, jerkwad," Surly growled as Scott shuffled to his feet. He was pushed roughly into the shower room and into a spray of cold water. Surly never heated the water before he pushed him into the shower, just like he never heated the water for Scott to shave with. Scott supposed that Surly had a name but he didn't remember it, like he didn't remember most things.

"C'mon, I gotta get you dressed and fed, asswipe," Surly grumbled and handed Scott his clothing without bothering to towel him off first. Scott slowly and carefully dressed himself in the pajama pants and loose shirt that were the uniform in the facility. "Speed it up, Ace!" Surly gave him a hard slap to emphasize his point. Scott, used to it by now, meticulously adjusted his clothes so that they would look less wrinkled. Somehow, it was important that he look neat. Finally, Surly lost his temper, as he did most mornings and gave Scott a hard push to the middle of his back, propelling him to the floor.

Scott methodically picked himself up, brushed himself off and replaced the slippers on his feet. He disliked Surly as much as Surly hated him, but this was the only way he could rebel without getting beaten. And Surly was a master of punishment without leaving any bruises. At Surly's frown, Scott began the slow march to the dining room. The attendant seated him at his usual table and handed him the rounded plastic spoon, which was all he was allowed to handle, then a bowl with watery oatmeal was set before him. Scott wasn't very hungry these days. He thought that maybe the drugs were doing that, but wasn't sure. He couldn't recall a time when he hadn't been getting the injections. Still, if he didn't get them he could get violent and hurt someone, so he supposed it was necessary.

The meal finished and Scott pushed away the half-eaten bowl and followed the other patients into the recreation room. He sensed dimly that other people had living rooms that were more comfortable than this big, barren, linoleum tiled place. Somehow he imagined comfortable couches, beautiful artworks, the scent of tropical flowers. He shook his head to clear it. What was it Dr. Gleason had said? That the delusions were a bad sign, that he was relapsing and might hurt somebody else.

He settled on one of the hard couches facing the big television set. The staff liked to watch soap operas. Scott liked the news when it came on; sometimes they showed jets and rockets and he loved those. He could almost imagine how it must feel to fly so fast and feel free….

"Hey, asswipe!" Surly was back again. Scott looked up and saw a nurse accompanying him with a tray. "Time for your meds," Surly said. The nurse, a hard-eyed bleached blonde with chipped nail polish, pulled a hypodermic off the tray and held it ready. Scott obediently rolled up his right sleeve and offered his arm. She briskly rubbed an alcohol wipe and stabbed him with the needle, pushing the chemical into his arm. Scott blinked as the drug sent a rush of fire running into his veins and held still until the pain faded. When he opened his eyes again, the two had disappeared.

Scott watched the screen blankly, feeling his thought processes slow down even more. The afternoon passed as they always did, with Scott staring at the screen, trying to force thoughts through a fuzzy mind. Dr. Gleason said that this was part of his therapy, that his homicidal impulses were being calmed by the drugs.

Gleason had explained why Scott was here. One day he'd gone crazy and killed his brother. They'd found him in the house, covered with blood, standing over his brother. His father had decided to put him here, in the mental hospital place. If he didn't take the drugs, he might hurt someone else. Scott knew he didn't want to hurt anybody, not even Surly. So he tried to control the outside thoughts, the delusions, and keep his mind clear, blank, safe.

Resigned, he turned his attention back to the television. No rockets today. A dull-looking announcer said, "And in other news, International Rescue continues in its shutdown of operations, stating that until its missing operative is found they will not risk the safety of their personnel…"

He dozed off, then woke when Surly shook him hard. Surly was smiling this time, a malicious grin. "Okay, asswipe, it's time for your _treatment_." The way he said it made Scott afraid. He didn't remember what happened in the Treatment Room, but it frightened him. A lot. He went there every day but never recalled what went on there. Surly did, but wasn't telling. All Scott knew was that when he got back to his room after a treatment, his body hurt all over and his mind felt fuzzier than ever. He stood up reluctantly, knowing that Surly was enjoying this.

Surly grabbed his shoulder and propelled him down the hallway. The closer he got to the Treatment Room, the more fear Scott felt. He could feel the sweat breaking out all over his body and his breath get faster. He looked over his shoulder at Surly and was unnerved by the man's grin. "Oh, you're gonna sing like a canary today, flyboy," Surly muttered, just in Scott's ear. "We got something new for you."

Scott could see the room ahead, at the end of a long doorless corridor. It was at the far end of the building, all by itself. Dr. Gleason had told him that sometimes treatments got noisy and that way it wouldn't disturb the other patients.

The door was opened at Surly's knock and Scott was pushed in. Dr. Gleason, wearing a white jacket, smiled warmly and motioned Scott to sit down. Surly fastened the restraints that bound his arms and legs to the chair and memory began to stir.

Scott looked wildly around at his surroundings. The room was brightly lit by fluorescent lights overhead, linoleum floor and metal furniture. He saw the can of water next to his chair and began to shiver. He looked up fearfully as Gleason approached him with a hypodermic and carefully swabbed his arm, then jabbed the needle in. Scott felt the fire again but it seemed to be clearing the cobwebs out. He could feel his thoughts speeding up, his memory returning swiftly.

Gleason bent over to catch Scott's eyes and smiled into them. "I see you're waking up again, Scott. I hope you plan to be more helpful than you've been these past days."

Scott shook his head, reality blossoming into a horrible realization. He pulled at the restraints, trying to loosen them as Gleason stood over him and Surly waited patiently.

Gleason backed away and pulled a chart off a nearby table. It showed an incomplete diagram of a jet plane. "I thought we could discuss the propulsion system for Thunderbird One today," Gleason said, showing Scott the chart. "You must know that if your organization hasn't found you by now, they never will."

Scott spat at Gleason's chart and said in a voice gone rusty, "You know what my answer is. The same as it was yesterday and the day before."

Gleason plucked a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off the chart. "You do know that the information you hold is quite valuable to us. We're going to quite a bit of trouble to obtain your cooperation. We'll just have to work a bit harder to persuade you, then, Mister International Rescue." Gleason waved his hand at Surly. "Try the waterboarding again, step three please…"

Scott's chair was tipped back and plastic wrap held over his face with an opening for his mouth. He panted while Surly shoved a washcloth in his mouth and began pouring water onto it, making Scott gag and choke. He closed his eyes and set himself to endure.


	2. Chapter 2

Asylum—Chapter 2

As the water poured in, he gasped for air, struggling against the water to draw a breath. He could feel it filling his lungs, his throat, nose and mouth. He struggled against the restraints, feeling his muscles tense and pull fruitlessly, then felt a sharp pain in his leg as a muscle pulled. Finally the flood stopped; he coughed and tried to retch the water out. His eyes were flooded, with water or tears, he couldn't be sure.

Scott didn't know how many times they had done this to him, he'd lost count long ago. Whenever he blessedly lost consciousness, he was brought back again. He didn't think he could take much more; the terrible panic was as bad as the thousand choking years or maybe just a few minutes trying to breathe. He did know that if they did it again, he'd probably die. "S..ssstop…please…" he gasped. The chair was uprighted, his face cleaned off and the water taken away.

"Well?" Gleason demanded.

Scott took his time in catching his breath. Finally, when the chair was about to be tipped back again, he began to speak. "I…I have a question first. I don't understand why you're bothering to keep me in an asylum. If you wanted to torture me, why not an old warehouse or something?"

Surly moved toward the chair again but Gleason waved him off. "We find it more cost effective to keep you here. You're hidden in plain sight." Gleason cocked his head to one side and smiled into Scott's defiant blue eyes. "The drugs keep you compliant until we need you. Best of all, when you're drugged you can't attempt escape or communicate with the outside world, you're simply another, rather inarticulate, patient. I'm well aware of your obvious intelligence. We've been watching your organization's rescues for some time. You, I assume, are the field commander?"

Scott said nothing, just stared back.

"Well, it hardly matters, does it? We've observed you running some very complex operations. That, and given your relative lack of defenses, we decided you would be the best candidate for interrogation if we couldn't lay hands on one of your Thunderbirds themselves. Oddly, your machines are better defended than you were," Gleason paused for a moment in thought.

_Keep__ him__ talking.__ Push__ for __time._ "So what is it you're giving me? Can I expect side effects in the future?" Scott asked, quietly working at the restraints.

"Oh, some subjects suffer brain damage with long term use," Gleason said complacently. "I doubt that you'll have a problem. If we can't break you, there are other options."

"Oh, you'll kill me then?" Scott asked baldly. _Might__ as__ well__ know __now_.

"Oh no," Gleason flashed a reassuring smile, which sent a quick chill down Scott's spine. "If we can't manage to get your information, there are others who can and will. You see, we aren't the only ones interested in your technology. We've carefully selected a group of potential purchasers and will be inviting them to submit bids. We're being relatively humane. You see," Gleason leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "We don't want to sell damaged goods."

"So you make money, either way," Scott murmured.

Gleason nodded. "We get your technology and then sell you to the highest bidder. A very good return on investment. I promise, you won't be allowed to escape by dying on me. We have an excellent medical center. And now," Gleason's expression sharpened. "Let's get down to business." Gleason gestured at Surly, who stuffed the rag back into Scott's mouth and began to pour water again. 

"I can't believe this happened," Virgil said. "I turned my back on Mobile Control for fifteen minutes, Dad, and then he was just…gone!"

Jeff Tracy wearily shifted in his chair. "Let's go through it again, son."

Virgil said, struggling with his composure, "Dad, we've been over and over this since I got back. Once again, we were called out to Thermoplastics Industries in Omaha Nebraska. They had a chemical fire and twenty workers were trapped on the fourth floor of the building. Since it was a remote area and a chemical fire, the local volunteer fire department couldn't handle it, so they called us." Virgil paced angrily and stopped for breath. "Scott set up Mobile Control and I took the Firefly in. Had the fire out in ten minutes, then evacuated the workers. There were no injuries. It was a textbook rescue." Virgil ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. "I remember calling Mobile Control and not getting an answer, but figured Scott was busy dealing with the locals. I pulled the Firefly back to Thunderbird Two…"

"And found?" Jeff prompted.

"And found Mobile Control empty but the proximity alarm was going off." Virgil stopped, folded his arms and then continued. "I checked Thunderbird One and discovered that the door had been tampered with but not opened. There wasn't a sign of Scott anywhere. I started searching and found nothing but tire tracks leading away from Mobile Control, but they could also belong to any of the other vehicles present." Virgil stopped and faced his father. "Dad, I'm sorry."

Jeff straightened up in his chair. "For what, Son?"

"I lost him. When I lost contact with him, I should have gone back to check on him. This is my fault," Virgil folded his arms across his chest. "I am so sorry, Father."

Jeff got up, went around the desk and folded his son into a hug. "It wasn't your fault, Son. Don't you think I'm blaming myself for sending him out without adequate security? No, if there's fault here, it's mine. But we'll find him, don't give up yet. We'll find him." Neither one would admit later that any tears were shed.

Brains entered the room. "Mr. Tracy, I..uh..have completed the analysis of the surface of Thunderbird One's hatch and have found nothing of note, simply uh..scratches on the surface paint. The..uh.. films from both Thunderbirds show only a figure in black, wearing..uh..a ski mask attempting to open the hatch. The uh..camera on the mobile control unit was disassembled and the memory destroyed."

Jeff's face fell, then he continued, then he straightened again. "That's unfortunate. Witnesses?" Jeff asked.

"Dad, we've been through this over and over again. No witnesses. I called the local police department and they did a house to house search but found nothing. Nobody saw or heard anything." Virgil sat down on the couch. "Has Penny turned up anything?"

"She's investigating the company, Thermoplastics. I've called Washington, London and Beijing and made it clear that International Rescue is out of operation until Scott is found and returned to us. I'm hoping that if it was a government that took him, diplomatic pressure will force his return." Jeff leaned back against his desk, staring at Scott's portrait for a moment. "I hope to God he's still alive."

"He's alive," Virgil stated and Jeff looked over at his second son.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

Virgil shrugged. "Scott and I have always had this sort of connection. Do you remember when I got lost in that department store when I was little? Scott found me in record time. He has always seemed to know when I'm in trouble and I've always had a sort of instinct about him." Virgil sighed. "I can't tell you where he is, but I'd know if he was dead. Has there been any sign that…um… others have our technology?"

Jeff frowned. "You mean, that your brother has broken under torture? No. Nothing..." He stared at Scott's picture again." I suppose we should have expected something like this eventually."

"Yeah, we're sitting ducks," Alan said as he entered the room with Gordon trailing after. "You'd think he'd have pulled his firearm."

"Alan, you don't know that he didn't," Jeff admonished him. "The thing is, that we don't know just what happened." He turned to his youngest two sons. "Any luck?"

"No, we spent the whole day there and got nothing. No blood, no spent casings, no evidence of a fight, nothing," Alan said in frustration. "It's like he just disappeared."

"If not for the damage to Thunderbird One, I'd be checking the local hospitals, wondering about a head injury," said Jeff.

"We already did," Gordon said, hands in his pockets. "There's no sign of him locally. Of course, that doesn't rule out the possibility that he was taken out of area."

Jeff nodded, thinking hard. "This was all very well-planned, a professional job. Brains, I want you to download the external surveillance tapes from Thunderbirds One and Two for the last, say, ten rescues and look at the crowds watching the rescue. Let's see if there's anyone in common…"

"So that's it, then? We stay grounded until Scott is found?" Gordon asked quietly. "What happens if we don't find him?"

Jeff swallowed and met the eyes of Brains, then each of his sons. "I don't know, boys. I just don't know."

"Well?" Gleason threatened.

Scott slumped forward in the chair, struggling to pull air into his bruised lungs, then shook his head. "No," he gasped, water dripping down his face. "Now that I know what you plan to do with the information, it's doubly important that you not be told."

Gleason's face froze, then he waved a hand at Surly. Surly grinned and leaning the chair back again, shoved the rag back into Scott's mouth and began to pour water directly from the bucket. Scott struggled and fought against the restraints. Gleason watched the water pour down until his victim's body went still before he raised a hand for Surly to stop.

Surly checked the man's vital signs and nodded. "He's still breathing. Probably inhaled some water, though."

Gleason nodded. "That's enough for today. Drug him and we'll try something different tomorrow. I really dislike selling him in an injured or disfigured state, but it looks like some damage may be necessary if we're to get the data we need."


	3. Chapter 3

Asylum—Chapter 3

Scott woke up before Surly came to get him out of bed. He regretted waking early, since it cut short his dreams. He couldn't remember much, just that he was on a tropical island with people who loved him. He sighed and coughed, feeling the phlegm rattle. He sat up slowly, his body feeling stiffer and more abused than most mornings. His leg twinged when he put his weight on it. He dimly wondered what he could have done to make his muscles so stiff.

He decided to dress himself and hope that Surly didn't make him shower today. Sometimes the man didn't, if Scott was already dressed when he arrived. Something about the idea of the water falling on him made him very afraid, and he wanted to avoid it. He pulled off his pajama top and noticed a new set of bruises around his wrists and arms, with a matching set on his legs. He quickly pulled on his daywear and slippers, then sat back on the bed to wait.

Funny, but his mind seemed a bit clearer in the morning. Probably because he was due to have his next dose of meds after breakfast. He wondered if the father who'd put him here were still angry with him. He couldn't really remember him well; he thought Father had salt and pepper gray hair and a resonant voice. He seemed to remember other people in the family…brothers, not brother. He worried a bit, wondering which one he'd killed. He frowned, wondering whether his father would forgive him if he apologized and maybe take him out of this place. He would have to ask Dr. Gleason.

"So, you're up, Flyboy?" Surly unlocked the bedroom door. "Already dressed? Good. That way I don't have to waste time with you. You can skip the shave today; there's nobody to see you." Chuckling harshly, Surly grabbed Scott's elbow and shoved him out the door of the room and down the hall to the dining room.

The morning oatmeal didn't look appetizing, so Scott left it uneaten. He guessed he should eat, but for the life of him he couldn't see why. If he died, it would be a relief somehow. He shuffled into the living room and sat in his place in front of the television set and hoped for jets or rockets on the news.

On the table next to him were some old magazines. He knew that different charities donated reading material to the asylum, as old fashioned as print material was these days. He liked the feel of paper in his hands and reading from there rather than off a screen. He had a feeling he'd always been that way.

He picked up the magazine on top of the stack. People Magazine, it said, and had a picture of a billionaire on the cover…one of the world's richest men. He studied the face, with a stronger and stronger feeling of familiarity. He liked the face of the billionaire. It looked kind. When he was sure nobody was watching, he tucked the magazine into the back of his pants. He'd ask to go to his room before lunch and he'd hide it where Surly would never find it. Then sometimes he could pretend that the kind man was his father, and not the sort of father who sends his son to a place like this.

Jeff sat at his desk in an abnormally quiet house and tried to work. Periodically, he'd stop and stare at the portrait of his oldest son, trying to will it to life. Then he averted his eyes and picked up today's stack of mail, brought by the mail plane.

A particular envelope struck his interest, marked "Personal and Confidential", his secretary hadn't opened it. He slit the top and pulled out the note inside. As he read it, his eyebrows climbed to his hairline and he could feel his hands begin to shake. Finally, he carefully set the note down and took a deep breath, trying to control his impulse to push over the desk and tear the room apart.

"Dad? What's wrong?" Virgil's soft voice came between Jeff Tracy and his murderous thoughts. With great effort, Jeff wrestled his temper down.

"This," he handed the note to his son.

Virgil read it and abruptly sat down on the couch. "Oh my God, they're auctioning Scott off to the highest bidder," he whispered, horrified and read from the paper: " 'An impeccable source of International Rescue technology and technique, questioning techniques are up to you…'" He looked up, his face wreathed in worry. "Father, what do we do now?"

"I'm going to that auction, that's what we do." Jeff's face looked thunderous. "At least we know what happened to your brother, now." He hit a button and called out, "FAB1 from Base. Penny, are you there?"

The photo of Lady Penelope flashed to life. "Base from FAB1. I'm here, Jeff. How can I help you?"

"Penny, I'm transmitting a copy of a note I just received as well as the envelope. The originals will follow by courier. I'd like your help with this." Jeff fed the documents into a scanner and waited while Penny received and read them.

"How appalling, Jeff," she commented when she'd read. "I take it you'd like Parker and I to follow up on the source?"

"Yes. I'd also like you standing by when I call their number and I'll have John trace the call. Wait a moment," Jeff hit another button. "Thunderbird Five from Base…"

"Yes, Dad," John's anxious face appeared. "Is there any news?"

"I'm afraid so," Jeff replied, sending a copy of the documents to John as well. "I plan to call this number and see if I can negotiate for Scott's release before this auction."

"You aren't going to tell them you're International Rescue, are you Dad?" Virgil broke in anxiously.

"No," said Jeff. "I am, however, the CEO of an aeronautics company who might have an interest in International Rescue technology. I imagine that's why they sent me the offer. John, when I open the line I'd like you to record it and run a trace to the other end of that call!"

"FAB, Dad," John said grimly. "I'm locked on to your line and ready to follow."

"Penny, I want you to watch and listen for any details that seem relevant to you," Jeff said.

Lady Penelope nodded and replied, "FAB, Jeff."

"What about me, Dad? What can I do?" Virgil asked.

Jeff flashed an unreadable look at his son. "Whatever I say, don't react and don't say anything. Are Gordon and Allan busy?"

"Yeah, they're still working on the tapes from our past rescues. I never knew we produced so much surveillance tape," Virgil replied.

"Good. I'll need to focus on this call. Your brother's life depends on it," Jeff replied.

TB1TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1TB1

Scott had safely tucked the magazine away under his mattress when Surly came to get him. Scott immediately felt a wash of near-panic come over him. "You're too early. I don't go to the Treatment Room until after lunch," he said fearfully.

Surly grinned evilly. "Today is something special. C'mon and don't argue." He grabbed Scott's arm and began to push him down the hallway. The closer they got to the Treatment Room door, the more Scott quietly resisted. He didn't remember why he hated that place, but he knew that he was afraid of it.

Finally, Surly opened the door and physically manhandled his patient into the room. Gleason was waiting there with a large smile next to a table with multiple hypodermics.

"Come over here, Scott," Gleason said gently. "We have some new medicine for you that should improve things quite a bit."

When Scott didn't move, Surly pushed him forward, then pulled Scott's pajama top off. Gleason quickly gave his patient an injection in each arm. Surly prevented any sudden moves by holding his prisoner's upper arms tightly.

As before, memory came crashing in and Scott realized that another day had passed without rescue. He could feel terror beginning to roil in the pit of his gut; he'd been abandoned. They couldn't find him. Maybe they'd stopped trying. He pulled in a deep breath and straightened, meeting Gleason's interested gaze.

"So what is it now?" Scott asked, feigning a calm he didn't feel. "You going to give up on me and let me go?"

Gleason only smiled back, then replied, "Scott, it is unfortunate for you and for us, that you are a brave man. This has held up proceedings considerably, since the auction date is approaching rapidly. I decided to…ah…goose things along a bit by improving your attitude. I've just given you a double dose of Mefloquine, an older malaria drug, no longer used. It should benefit us by decreasing your resistance and, ironically, it will incidentally prevent you from contracting malaria while you're with us."

Scott shook his head uneasily as the terror in his gut began increasing. "What?" he said.

"You'll experience hallucinations, nightmares, suicidal ideation and, above all, fear," Gleason stated, watching Scott's expression closely. His smile grew reptilian. "The effects are long-lasting and won't wear off for some time. That should improve your level of cooperation both for us and your next set of interrogators. And in the meantime," Gleason pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. "You will change into your uniform to have your picture taken. Interest has already been expressed in your purchase, so we are speeding things up somewhat."

Scott saw a pile of blue clothing neatly stacked on one of the chairs. A pair of blue boots sat on the floor next to it. Looking nervously over his shoulder, he approached the pile and slowly began to dress. As he pulled on the tunic, he surreptitiously searched through the various pockets it contained. If he could find the edible transmitter Dad had insisted he and his brothers wear, they could find him. His nervous fingers found and searched the hidden pocket, only to find it empty.

"By the way, you had quite an interesting set of gadgets in your uniform. We've removed them and are studying them with an eye toward exploiting any useful technologies. Nice try, Scott." Gleason watched with arms folded, his smile undiminished.

Scott didn't react and tried to ignore the rising terror in his soul. _The__ fear __isn__'__t __real.__ It__'__s__ drug-induced.__ Not__real.__ Breathe__…_

He stood where he was placed and looked solemnly into the camera while he was photographed. Finally, Gleason put the camera down and gestured to Sullen. "Well, Scott, the waterboarding didn't seem to work for you, so we'll try something different today. Please take off your uniform and remain unclothed. Your attendant will assist if necessary."

Eyeing Sullen, who stood by the wall with an eager look on his face, Scott slowly complied. Something new. Great. As he shed his last bit of clothing and stood shivering on the linoleum floor, there came a knock at the door.

Irritated, Gleason opened it and had a brief conversation with someone outside the room. "All right, I'll take it in my office," he said. "I'll be there in a minute." He turned and faced Scott. "I have an important telephone call. I'll be right back and we'll hear what you have to say." He gestured at Sullen. "Go ahead and try your best, but don't mar his face or cause brain damage." As Gleason left, Surly began advancing on his prisoner.

Gleason picked up the special vid-phone line and answered crisply, "Hello, how can I help you?"

An older man with salt and pepper hair and a craggy face answered. "Hello, this is Jeff Tracy of Tracy Enterprises. I had understood that you have some new technology to sell?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Tracy, I do," Gleason said smoothly. "Although it isn't the technology itself, you understand. Rather, I am selling a…source…of the information. It will be up to you to mine this source and retrieve the data."

"I see," Tracy's face was solemn. "Then let's cut to the chase. You have that International Rescue operative that's missing, don't you?"

Gleason frowned. "You do understand that this isn't the sort of discussion one has on the phone…"

Tracy waved a hand. "I'm a direct man and I want to know what I'm buying. Now, if it's that International Rescue man, that's what I want. I've been trying to get my hands on their technology for some time, and nothing has worked; they won't sell and I haven't been able to steal it." Tracy leaned toward the screen with an avid look in his eyes. "I'm prepared to outbid any other offers you might have, with a bonus for you if you'll give me priority." Tracy paused and examined a paper on his desk, then added, "I also need to know what his condition is."

Gleason smiled back, showing teeth. "I am glad to hear of your interest, Mr. Tracy. I can say honestly that he's in good health and relatively undamaged so far."

Tracy's eyebrows drew down in a thunderous look, which he quickly smoothed over. "What do you mean 'relatively' undamaged? I also want an exclusive on his information. If you've been interrogating him, I'm not buying anything unique. I must demand that he be left undamaged." Tracy poked a finger at the screen. "That means no intensive interrogation techniques! No torture!"

Gleason replied easily, "I'm afraid I can't guarantee an exclusive. You see, we've been working with him since he arrived here with us. But I can guarantee that he will be compliant and helpful when you question him yourself."

Tracy's eyes closed for a moment, then he gave Gleason a determined look. "My offer stands. When can I take delivery?"

Gleason shook his head. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Tracy, but it would be unfair to our other bidders to give you priority. But if you are this determined to purchase his…er…services, I'm confident that yours will be the winning bid. However, to ease your mind I can offer you a photo of the operative, taken just minutes ago and showing him in reasonable health. Would that satisfy you?"

Tracy nodded his head slowly. "It will have to. Please transmit it immediately. And how will I know when and where the auction will be? Can I send a representative?"

"No representatives, I'm afraid. For prices this high we deal only with principals. We'll let you know the place and time," Gleason said cordially. "I am sending the photo now. Received? Good. We'll be in touch." Gleason pressed a button and the line cut off.


	4. Chapter 4

Asylum—Chapter 4

Jeff Tracy closed the line and turned to see his sons watching him, owl-eyed. Somehow Alan and Gordon had come into the lounge during the call. They stood next to Virgil in astonished silence.

"What is the problem?" Jeff asked irritably.

"Dad, I've never heard you sound so…evil," Alan said in a wondering tone.

Jeff nodded. "Think I pulled it off?"

"You convinced me," said Virgil. "What does the photo look like?"

Jeff picked up the photo of Scott and examined it, not liking what he saw. "Well, at least he's alive, if the kidnappers are to be believed."

Virgil took it and looked closely. "He's not doing so well. Look how his uniform is hanging on him. Before he was taken, I was kidding him that he'd either have to cut back on his desserts or get Grandma to make him a new one. I don't see any bruises, though."

Gordon took the photo from Virgil. "Not everything leaves bruises. I hope he remembers that emergency procedure we discussed."

Alan studied the photo in Gordon's hand. "You mean, you hope it works. We've always known your procedure is a risk. He may not feel safe enough to try it."

Gordon sighed. "Or desperate enough. I guess that's a good thing."

John's portrait lit up. "Go ahead, John," Jeff said. "Anything?"

John looked frustrated. "I'm sorry, Dad. I tried but I lost the trail. They had the line routed through about a dozen different countries."

"That's all right, son," said Jeff. "These people are professionals. I would expect them to have secured their phone systems." He turned to Gordon and Alan. "Have you had any luck with the tapes?"

Alan smiled and pulled out a tape. "We think so, Father. Take a look." He inserted the tape into his father's work station. "See that tall blonde guy, the one with the buzz-cut and the snarly expression? Well, he was at the rescue in Canada." He flipped to another picture. "And also in Japan," he forwarded to a different screen shot. "And in Mexico. In fact," Alan went on. "He's been at our last seven rescues. We were being studied the entire time."

"That's valuable information," Jeff said. "Good work, boys….Virgil, what's wrong?"

Virgil had gone white and was swaying where he stood. "Scott…he's in trouble…bad trouble…" 

When Gleason left, Scott turned to face his torturer and crouched in a defensive position. It was one on one, now and he had a shot at defending himself. He didn't like the fact that Surly was a good two inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. And he had clothing, too. Damn..

Surly moved fast and ran at him like a freight train. Scott just dove away for the other end of the room, feeling pain in his bad leg when the tendon let go. He hit the floor and quickly picked himself up, limping.

"I've been waiting for this," Surly panted. "D'you think I enjoy being your maid?"

"I kind of guessed that being a hospital orderly wasn't your day job," Scott breathed. Bad enough his leg was unreliable, he was winded and felt dizzy, like the room was spinning. That drug, it must be kicking in. Shit, his one chance to get away and he'd better move fast. He looked around frantically for a weapon of some kind and his gaze fixed on the table with the hypodermics on it.

Unfortunately, Surly's eyes fixed there too. And he was closer. Surly grabbed a hypo and held it like a knife. Scott tried to circle, to get to the door but Surly was too fast. Scott was tackled from behind, inches before he could get to the door. He could feel the hypodermic stabbed into his shoulder and the world immediately began to spin faster. He felt himself dragged back to the chair and strapped firmly in.

When he looked up blearily, Surly was ten feet tall and looked meaner than ever. His voice boomed into Scott's ears. "The doc thinks he's a good interrogator but he's really fooling himself. We could have broken you days ago, so here's the deal. You talk or you hurt and I'll make you want to die. I'm not worried about damaging your resale value." Surly pulled away and fished in his pants for a pack of cigarettes and matches, lit one and began puffing.

Scott felt the terror grow and swirl around him; he'd never been so afraid. He struggled for breath and felt the sweat pop out on his forehead. His pulse tripled. _Not __real.__ Not__ real__ fear __it__'__s__ the__ drugs__… _

Surly swam into view again, the glowing cigarette between his fingers. "Okay, Flyboy, what's the secret of Thunderbird One's propulsion system?" he grated, then jabbed the cigarette down onto Scott's chest. "No answer? Let's try again. Same question: what's the secret of Thunderbird One's propulsion system?" This time he ground it in.

Forget being manly, there was nobody to hear him anyway, for the next hours or afternoon or a year, Scott screamed until his voice failed and he couldn't have answered if he wanted to. 

….

**Later**

After a brief, blessed darkness, a bucket of water was poured over him. He looked up, panting, to see Surly put the bucket down and stand with arms folded, cigarette between his lips, crumpling the now empty cigarette pack. Surly blew the smoke into Scott's face and said, "Well? What's your answer?" He lifted the cigarette between his fingers and leaned in.

The actual idea had been Gordon's; he'd had the same interrogation training in the WASP as Scott had. They'd been taught that if you were tortured and knew you were about to break, (and everyone does, eventually) you must lie. And lie. And lie some more so that when you couldn't avoid telling the truth it would be mixed with so many lies, the information would be useless to the enemy. The brothers had discussed this possibility and made a plan for it with Scott's blessing. And only Gordon could have come up with such a set of preposterous engineering specs. This was it; he couldn't hold out any more.

"Flux capacitor," he said, his voice thin and grainy.

"What?" Surly leaned in.

"Flux capacitor. That's the secret to thunderbird technology," Scott said, eyes closed. "Each thunderbird machine has one. It's the central core of the engine." Mentally he crossed his fingers and hoped that Surly wasn't an antique movie fan.

Surly had gone back to the table and had grabbed a notepad. He returned and demanded, "How do you construct one?"

"We…buy them. Ready-made." Scott swallowed and paused until Surly held the cigarette threateningly. "We don't make them. The capacitor is wired into the power-system."

"Where do you get them?" Surly demanded.

Scott held his eyes closed turned his head away, then whispered again.

"What? Say it louder," Surly said.

"We buy them from Tracy Enterprises…They're the only ones who manufacture them…."

Surly looked skeptical. "If they're a common part, then everyone would be doing what you do. If you're lying to me…" He plucked the cigarette from his lips…

"Part isn't standard…and we have our own way of utilizing it. Nobody knows but us…" Scott kept an eye on the glowing tip of the cigarette and was relieved when Surly replaced the cigarette in his mouth.

"How?" Surly continued to scribble excitedly on his pad.

"Special order item," Scott said weakly. "It's in…the catalog. It's a universal capacitor….works in anything with a jet engine. Quadruples the power available to the engine…The installation method is….." 

Jeff Tracy had given up trying to work; it was late anyway. He stood on the balcony with drink in hand, hoping to calm himself. The sheer rage that poured through his body after that phone call prevented any concentration. He had to work on that. If he couldn't concentrate, he couldn't plan and this required cold, hard thinking. The boys had gone to bed long ago but he doubted anyone was sleeping tonight.

He hoped that Virgil was mistaken about this psychic bond he was claiming with Scott, because if his son was right, Scott was running out of time. It had taken hours to calm Virgil down and persuade him to go to bed. International Rescue had always been a heavy burden, but tonight it felt crushing. He'd been contacted by multiple governments about reinstating service and had bluntly denied each one. He could only hope that if he created enough pressure, something would come to the surface.

He heard Lady Penelope's picture activate and moved back into the lounge area. "What is it, Penny?"

For once, Lady Penelope looked a bit mussed, but it was only evident to someone who knew her well. "Jeff, I have news," she said.

"Good, let's hear it," Jeff said.

"First, the analysis of the tape has turned up nothing of use, although I am continuing to try to identify your contact with facial recognition software. I have managed to acquire a list of those invited to bid at Scott's auction," she gave him a look of regret.

Jeff frowned. "I have a feeling I won't like the answer. Who do you have?"

"Aside from the usual CEO's, I also note the name of Belah Gaat, whom we have already identified as the saboteur who has been trying to acquire International Rescue technology for some years now," she said.

"Now that puts the cat among the pigeons," Jeff said, thoughtfully. "He's unlikely to wait until the auction to move on Scott. We need to move faster, but I don't see how. By the way, Penny, did you know that the boys have honed in on someone who has been watching our rescues?"

"Yes, Jeff, I received that information several hours ago. I am researching this person as well. I'll let you know what I discover."

"Thanks, Penny," Jeff replied and signed off. 

Gleason walked into the Treatment Room to find Surly finishing a page of notes and his prisoner semi-conscious in the chair. "Well, now, how are things going?" Gleason asked.

Surly held up the pad of paper triumphantly. "We have a breakthrough," and handed it to Gleason. Gleason's eyes lit up as he read the notes. "Good. Very good." He eyed Scott and pursed his lips. "But you didn't use the interrogation protocols I outlined."

Surly shrugged. "Hey, the electric shock to the genitalia thing was over-kill. I decided to go old-school and it was effective, as you can see."

"I do see. Well done," Gleason set the pad down and walked over to his trembling prisoner. "I think you're ready to go back to your room, Scott." He retrieved the first hypo from the table and filled it with a clear solution and briskly injected it in his victim.

"Now Scott, remember," he said in a honeyed voice. "I'm your psychiatrist and I'm here to help you. You will remember my hypnotic suggestion and forget your prior life. You're in the asylum because you murdered your brother, remember? Good. Your father sent you here so that I could treat you. And you feel terribly guilty that you killed your brother….Okay, Gerald, you can take him back to his room now. Wait, you'd better re-dress him in his pajamas. The uniform stays here."

Surly unbuckled the restraints and quickly redressed an unresisting Scott in his pajama outfit, then dragged him out the door. Gleason was left looking at the notepad with great satisfaction. 

Jeff looked up to see Tintin holding a cup of steaming coffee and a plate with a sandwich on it. "I know you're all worried, but you barely eat anymore," she said softly, putting the plate down.

He looked up gratefully. "Thanks, Tintin," and took a sip of the coffee. He didn't remember when he'd slept last and doubted he would until Scott was home. He rubbed his face wearily.

The office phone buzzed and his secretary's face appeared. "Hello, Jeannie, what's up?" Jeff straightened in his chair, trying to look alert.

"Good morning, Mr. Tracy," the brunette with glasses replied. "Are you okay, sir? If you don't mind my saying so, you look terrible."

Jeff faked a laugh and replied, "Just fighting off the flu, nothing important. How can I help you?"

Jeannie replied, "Oh, uh, I hope you feel better soon, sir. In any case, an unusual order has come in from the parts department. The note says to inform you directly whenever we get a request for a…she read slowly, 'flux…uh…capacitor'…"

Abruptly, Jeff's eyes widened and he sat up straight. "Really? That's very interesting. Can you give me the customer information?" He grabbed a pen and began writing. Feeling hope for the first time in days, he folded the paper with a smile. "Jeannie, tell the parts department to acknowledge the order and to advise the customer that we will fulfill their request as quickly as possible."

"I will, sir," Jeannie said. "You're starting to look better already."

"Oh yes," Jeff said, absently. "I'm starting to feel much better." 

They had all gathered in the lounge: the Tracy sons, Jeff, Tintin and Brains. Lady Penelope was also present via communicator, as was John.

"I can't believe this actually worked," Virgil said. "Because of the security risk, we only ever intended it to be a last-ditch call for help. I mean, we discussed it and Gordon even made up fake engineering specs, but we always figured we'd never have to use it. It was almost a joke," Virgil said, eyeing the paper his father had handed around.

"It's a joke that will save your brother's life," Jeff commented. "Okay, Penny, I'm sure that this isn't the location where Scott's being held, but see what you can do to locate him. For the remainder, we need to plan what to do when we do find out where he is."

"Go in, guns blazing," suggested Alan.

"Not practical," said Gordon. "I mean, we don't know who else will be there or even if we'll be out-gunned."

"I've got an idea, Dad," said Virgil, slowly. "Here's what I think…"


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: This chapter is for those who suggested that if Scott really had killed his brother, it be Alan

Asylum—Chapter 5

Lady Penelope called back a few hours later, a happy expression on her face. "Jeff, I think I've found something. The return address on your parts order belongs to a company with a rather poor reputation in the business arena, Sidonics Limited. It's the parent company of Thermoplastics Industries, where Scott was taken. I believe I've located Scott."

The sound of her voice drew Virgil, Gordon and Alan from the other rooms. They had been waiting and hoping for her call.

"Where is he, Penny?" Jeff said urgently as his sons gathered quietly in the lounge.

"Sidonics has been known to offer its services as a middle man in corporate espionage, with a specialty in interrogating corporate spies. The company also purchased a private mental hospital some years ago and my sources tell me that it doubles as their private prison, while continuing to operate as a mental hospital. The Shadowbrook Hospital for the Mentally Ill is located in Plainfield, Indiana."

"Well, Father," Virgil said. "I can go in first and check out the area, then we can formulate a plan to get Scott out, depending on his condition. I can get a job as an orderly; mental hospitals are always hiring."

"Wait a minute," said Gordon. "You must not have been listening during our planning session earlier, big brother. Remember? I dibsed going in first on this one. At least I've got military training and I shoot better than you do."

Virgil turned to Gordon, "I'm older and wiser."

"I'm younger and sneakier. Face it Virg, you have trouble telling a lie, and you're a rotten actor. You couldn't tell a lie to save your life," Gordon replied.

"Hey, what about me?" Alan exclaimed. "I want to help rescue Scott, too!"

"Boys, boys! Stop it," Jeff said sharply. "This isn't a mission to get a cat out of a tree. Virgil and Gordon will both go; Virgil for his greater medical skills and…ah…psychic rapport with Scott. Gordon, you'll go because you are the better actor of the two, if your history cadging cookies for the others says anything. You can back up each other."

"Dad…" Alan began.

"I have other plans for you, Alan," Jeff said firmly.

"All right then," Lady Penelope said smoothly. "I'll arrange for credentials for both Virgil and Gordon and for them to be hired as contract workers at the hospital. Rely on me," she finished.

"I always do," Jeff replied gratefully. 

TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 

Tonight, the pleasant dreams that always rescued him turned traitor. He saw it in flashes, bright and glowing with life. He stood in a luxurious living room, filled with couches and Asian artwork. He could see a long balcony overlooking the shimmering blue ocean. Then a man entered, his brother. He was younger, early twenties maybe, and very blonde, set off by a dark tan and blue eyes. Scott didn't know why but he felt enraged and fearful; this young man, his little brother, was…was…dead.

Scott stood over him, knife in hand and the brother lying broken in a pool of blood at his feet. Scott looked at the knife in his shaking hand, dripping with lurid red blood, and blood filled the world. He was drowning in it; it filled his nose, his throat, like the water had, flooding him with guilt. He howled his anguish, then Father came, angry at what he'd done. Father's resonant voice abused him for failing to protect his baby brother. It was his duty to protect his brothers, and he'd failed. His responsibility…his fault…his fault…

Scott sat bolt upright in his bed, eyes wide open in the quiet gray room. He struggled to breathe through the blood, certain that he was a murderer. He belonged here; Dr. Gleason was right. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees and rocked back and forth, tears flooding his eyes. His burns stung, but he was used to that by now. He ran his hands over his streaming eyes, knowing in his heart that he was guilty of a brother's death.

Surly had become more and more smug as the Treatments continued since what Dr. Gleason called Scott's breakthrough. That was a good thing, as long as Scott kept talking. He still didn't remember what happened in the Treatment Room but he still feared it, now more than ever.

He heard a tap at his door and backed as far into the bed as he could. The door opened and a different face looked in, not Surly's. The man who looked in caught sight of Scott and his face lit up. He had brown hair and eyes with a pleasant face that looked vaguely familiar. Didn't matter, Scott had no friends here. He nudged himself further away from the door, finally backed against the wall.

The young man stepped into the room and closed the door quietly, then frowned a bit. "Scott! Don't you know me? It's me! Virgil." He, Virgil, tried to approach but Scott got out of the bed and backed away as best he could, his limp pronounced.

"Scott?" Virgil said softly, holding out a hand. "Hey, bro…I'm here." He eyed Scott sharply. "What's wrong with you?"

"Where's the other guy?" Scott asked suspiciously. "The tall blonde guy?"

Virgil smiled a feral smile. "Oh, he had an accident. Alan's got him now. I'm replacing him. Gordon and I are here to case the joint and get you out of here…Scott? Don't you remember me? I'm your brother…"

At the word 'brother', Scott blanched. He'd backed as far as he could, but he began scrabbling at the wall behind him. "You..you can't be my brother," he said, his voice still gravelly with misuse. "I killed him. That's why I'm here."

Virgil's expression hardened. "Really? Why don't you tell me about it. Come on, I won't hurt you," he patted the bed. "Sit down and tell me everything."

Scott cautiously sat down on the bed and told the new orderly all about it, how he'd killed his brother and his father had ordered him incarcerated here. Then he detailed his vivid dream. "So, you see, Dr. Gleason is right. I belong here. I need the drugs or I'll become homicidal," Scott concluded logically, sitting Indian style on the bed.

"Uh huh," said Virgil. "How do they give you this medicine? And how often?"

"Uh..Twice a day, I think," Scott said, concentrating. "After breakfast and later," he grimaced and looked away. "In the Treatment Room. I don't remember much after they give me the drugs, but Dr. Gleason says it's necessary."

"I see," Virgil said, thoughtfully. "Do you remember your last name? Where you came from?" He carefully sat on the bed next to his brother.

Scott shook his head. "No, not much really, although more comes back when I'm due a shot. I think the meds wear off."

Another light tap on the door. Scott startled, sliding back against the wall as the door opened and a head poked through. This man was redheaded. "Virg, have you found him yet?" said a soft voice. The red-headed man's expression lightened and he slid into the room, closing the door behind him. "Scott! You're alive! How are you…?"

Without taking his eyes off Scott, Virgil held up a hand and said cautiously, "Gordon, wait…" He turned to Scott and said gently, "Scott, this is Gordon, he's a friend of mine. He's your orderly too, now." He waved Gordon into the room. "You can trust him, Scott."

Gordon looked from Scott to Virgil, his face white with shock. "Virgil, what's going on? What's wrong with Scott?"

"Drugs, I think. He doesn't remember us at all and thinks he's killed Alan. They've really screwed with his head," Virgil bit his lip. "I wish we had Brains here."

"Can we smuggle him out?" Gordon asked. "He looks fit enough." He crouched down in front of Scott and looked him over.

"I don't know; I haven't examined him," Virgil said. "At this point, I don't think he'd let me touch him."

"You know, I'm still here in the room," Scott said with asperity. "I may not know who you are, but I know when you're discussing me." He decided that these two looked a lot less formidable than Surly and had the vague feeling that they were safe.

Gordon grinned. "Well, they haven't changed you that much, Scott. Hi, I'm Gordon," he held out a hand to shake. Scott extended his and his pajama sleeve fell back as they shook.

"Jeeze! What is that?" Virgil demanded and grabbed Scott's arm, rolling up the sleeve. "Shit. Do you have any more sores like that? Scott, would you mind taking your shirt off?"

Scott nodded and removed his shirt, showing Surly and Gleason's handiwork. Gordon and Virgil both blanched, then looked angry.

"We've got to get him out of here," Virgil said grimly. "Scott, are you hurt anywhere else? Can you walk?"

Scott nodded and gestured toward his legs. "I have them there, too. I can't walk very well; pulled a muscle."

"Virg, we'll never get him out by day. There are too many people around, and we'd never get him over the wall," Gordon said urgently.

"Okay, the first thing we do is try to counteract these drugs," Virgil said. He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket. "Scott, do you mind if I take a blood sample?"

"That's fine, I'm used to needles," Scott stuck out his arm, the restraint marks barely faded and tracks of needle marks running up the length. Virgil winced, but took his sample and pocketed the vial.

"Okay, Gord I'm off shift, so I'll get this to Brains. You'd better follow the schedule and don't raise any suspicion," Virgil said. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Gordon nodded and Virgil turned to Scott. "Scott, I'll be back later. Until then, Gordon is going to look after you. Is that all right?"

"That's fine," Scott said. "He's a lot friendlier than old Surly."

Virgil gave his older brother a sad half-smile and headed for the door. "And Gordon," he said before he left. "Be careful. You don't want to get caught by these lunatics." 

After Virgil left, Gordon eyed Scott closely and said, "Okay, Scott, what's next on the schedule? You're going to have to help me with the regular routine here."

"I take a shower, dress then we go down to breakfast," Scott got off the bed stiffly and shuffled over to the dresser, removing some clothing. "I'll show you where the shower room is."

Bemusedly, Gordon followed Scott to the showers, trying to look like he was the one in charge. Scott may be amnesiac, but his personality hadn't changed that much. Inside the private shower stall, he had to help Scott with his clothes and bit back a reaction when he saw the extent of his brother's injuries. He focused on helping Scott dry off and get into his day clothing, then walked him to the dining room, getting angrier with each step.

He gave back the bowl of oatmeal to the cook and demanded eggs and toast, knowing that Scott had hated oatmeal since they were kids. Scott's eyes lit up when he saw the plate. "Hey! Real food," he said, digging in.

When the blonde nurse showed up with Scott's morning dose of meds, Gordon was in a quandary. He couldn't just stand by and watch them dose his brother with poison, he had to do something…ah…he smiled a quick evil little grin.

"Hello…uh…Sheila," Gordon said with his best ingratiating smile. "I'm Gordon," he held out his right hand to shake hers and managed to trip over his feet, pushing over her tray. The both heard the crunch as he stepped on the vial and smashed it beneath his foot, rubbing it into the floor with the bottom of his boot.

"What the…" Sheila began, in irritation. "Now I'll have to go back and get more, you clumsy ox!"

"Oh, Sheila, I'm so sorry," Gordon said insincerely. "C'mon, I'll help you. I'm so sorry I bumped you. The least I can do is give you a hand…"

He followed the unwilling nurse back to the drug locker, watching closely while she unlocked the cabinet door and selected another vial, reading the label carefully…Prophalamine..

"You don't have to help me with this," the nurse said. "I'm sorry I yelled, but Dr. Gleason gets upset if one of his precious patients doesn't get his meds on time."

"I can understand that," Gordon said, walking with her down the hallway. "So, this one's a special patient?"

"Yeah, he gets separate treatment. Must be from a wealthy family. He's supposed to be a homicidal maniac, so the rest of us keep our distance." She eyed him. "You're a lot nicer than Gerald, the patient's usual orderly."

"Gerald's out sick," Gordon said blandly. "If you want, I can give the guy his dose; you don't even have to go near him."

She looked hopefully at him. "I'm really behind on my charting. The supervisor's on my ass already. If I set it up, can you do the rest? He gets it in the upper arm muscle."

"Sure," Gordon promised faithfully. "I can leave the tray back at the nurse's station if you want."

"Thanks, Gordon," she said with a smile. "I don't like the idea of caring for a murderer, y'know? Thanks!" She filled the syringe and put it on the tray, then turned to go. "I'll see you later!"

"Count on it," Gordon smiled, taking the tray. When she was out of sight, he emptied the syringe onto the floor and concealed the hypo beneath the cloth. Approaching Scott in the recreation room, he said loudly, "I've got your morning meds, Scott. Let's go to your room so I can give you your shot."

Scott shrugged and followed Gordon back to his room. Once inside, Gordon set down the tray and shut the door. "No meds for now, Scott. Let's see how long it takes for this stuff to wear off."

Scott looked nervously at Gordon. "Are you sure you want to risk that? I mean, I get violent when the meds wear off."

"Don't worry," said Gordon cheerfully. "If you get violent, I'll slap you down like a bug. I always win the arm wrestling contests with you at home."

"Uh huh," Scott said doubtfully. "I've never seen you before, so I doubt that, but it's your risk Gordon."

"I'm not worried," Gordon said. "How about you tell me what you can remember about your stay here so far?" 

As the time progressed, Gordon noticed that Scott's speech grew clearer and his affect more animated. A few times, Scott would stop talking and look pointedly at Gordon, as though he remembered him. Gordon would stop, holding his breath, only to watch Scott shake his head and say nothing.

Ultimately, Gordon pulled out the playing cards and challenged Scott to a game of poker. "But I don't have any money," Scott protested. "It's no fun if there aren't any stakes."

"Tell you what, we'll bet imaginary money," Gordon said with a wicked grin. "I'll keep track and you keep throwing those dollars in. No problem. You can pay me later."

"Okay," said Scott doubtfully. "I guess that's all right." 

TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 

"We can't get him out tonight, Dad, the security is pretty thick and I don't think he'd make it physically," Virgil said to the image of his father.

"How bad is it, son?" Jeff asked, his face serious.

"He has burns over at least his upper trunk and arms and a limp from a pulled muscle. But his psychological state is worse. Dad, he didn't know me at all," Virgil said. "He thinks he's in the asylum because he murdered his brother; he thinks he killed Alan and that you had him committed. He doesn't remember who he is. Gordon and I were barely able to get him to trust us."

"I see," Jeff said, thinking hard. "We've gotten notice of the auction. It's in three days, so we don't have much time."

"I got a sample of Scott's blood, Brains is testing it now. Maybe we can counteract the drugs; that would help our chances. Gordon's with him now," Virgil finished. "How are Alan and Lady Penelope doing with that blonde orderly?"

Jeff Tracy smiled wolfishly. "Making progress, or so I hear. Once Alan explained that he'd been captured by International Rescue and how very personally we take Scott's treatment, he started talking. He's given a complete description of their organization, so far. He didn't know which drugs were used on Scott, unfortunately."

"I..I think I can answer that question," Brains said from the lab set up. "I..its a combination of Prophalamine and Mefloquine. In fact, the dose of Mefloquine is…er..rather large. I'm surprised he isn't actively hallucinating." Brains approached Virgil and spoke into the communicator.

"Can you counteract it, Brains?" Jeff asked.

"Under n..normal circumstances, the Mefloquine would be filtered out of the body by the liver over a period of weeks but yes, I can counteract it. The Prophalamine is simpler; there's a formulation I can make that would negate its effects almost immediately. I've already begun to prepare it. Virgil can administer it to Scott tonight." Brains nodded to Jeff and moved back to the lab setup.

"All right, we're making progress," Jeff said. "Give the drugs to Scott when you see him tonight and tell Gordon I want his report as soon as he's off duty. Don't worry, Virgil, we'll get your brother out somehow. And good work, all three of you."

"FAB, Dad," Virgil replied and retired to his bunk at the back of Thunderbird Two. He knew he'd need to be alert when he went back. Somehow he couldn't sleep. He kept seeing Scott's face in his mind. And Scott's injuries…God, what he'd gone through to get those marks, Virgil could only imagine. When he thought about it, the rage built up in his core and stayed there. He envied Alan, who actually had one of them captive. 

TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 

Lunchtime arrived and Gordon got trays for them both. So far, he'd fleeced Scott out of several hundred thousand dollars, but Scott was slowly catching up. His thinking processes were improving.

Gordon put the trays on the small table in the room and watched Scott eat, slowly and picking at his food. No wonder he'd lost weight. "Not like Grandma's cooking, is it?" he asked idly.

"Not in the least," Scott replied. "I'd kill for a steak with all the trimmings."

"You got that right," Gordon replied casually. "And nobody can touch her apple pie. I remember after you got shot down in the Sahara, Virg told me you ate half a pie there and I know you put away three pieces when you got home."

"I didn't eat that much; Virgil was exaggerating…." Scott stopped and looked up, his face gone still.

Gordon grinned broadly. "Welcome back, big brother."

Scott grinned back wildly and lunged forward to hug his little brother. "God, I'm glad to see you, Gordon," he whispered into Gordon's shoulder. They stood together for several minutes, Gordon hanging on as tightly as Scott.

"It's okay, Scott," Gordon said softly. "We're here to get you out. It's gonna be okay."

Scott took in a ragged breath and let go of his little brother, then sat abruptly back on his chair. "Can you get me out this afternoon?"

Gordon shook his head regretfully. "It's too soon. We just found you and don't have a clear extraction plan yet. The security is pretty thick here. Why?"

Scott cocked an eyebrow. "I'm due in the Treatment Room at three o'clock today."

Gordon's face fell. "We could try to sneak you out the back, I guess," he said hopelessly.

"No," Scott said. "I don't want you or Virgil in danger. We abide by the schedule, then. I can tell them more about the flux capacitor…" he paused. "Don't worry, I'll think of something…" The terror was uncoiling again; damn drugs. Can't frighten Gordon.

Gordon shot him a glance, then replied, "We got an order for a flux capacitor; that's how we found you," Gordon said with a grin.

"Just be grateful none of them are early movie buffs," Scott replied, smiling, beating down the internal panic.

Three o'clock arrived and Gordon escorted Scott down the long hallway on the back end of the building. Why did he feel like he was walking his big brother to his execution? Scott looked calm, but a bit pale, Gordon noted, and didn't blame him.

"Like I told you," Scott said. "Just strap me into the chair and get the hell out of there. And Gordon," Scott stopped and made eye contact. "Don't improvise, okay? It would about kill me to see you sitting in that chair. I can do this because I know you're safe."

Gordon nodded dumbly, his stomach churning. He couldn't just leave him here…he couldn't …He had to.

They had arrived at the door. Gordon knocked and it was opened by a tall, thin, grey man in a white coat. "Hello," the man said pleasantly. "You must be the new orderly. I'm sorry that Gerald isn't feeling well. But do come on in and bring Scott with you. Good afternoon, Scott. We have a lot of work to do."

He gestured towards the iron chair set in the middle of the room. Scott shuffled over to it obediently and sat down. Gordon just stood there numbly until he caught Scott's eyes flashing at him. _C__'__mon,__ Gord! __Make__ this __ look__ good!_

Gordon quickly did up the straps and, fists balled at his sides, began to leave the room. He halted in the doorway when Dr. Gleason called, "Oh, Gordon, I'd like you to stay. I need an assistant today. Come back in and close the door behind you."

Gordon gave Scott a look of blind panic and moved back into the room, shutting them both in.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's note: Updates will be less often, now that the holiday weekend is over. I do normally keep to a weekly update schedule, so expect another chapter next weekend if not sooner.

Asylum—Chapter 6

The atmosphere in the Treatment Room suddenly felt airless for Scott. Gordon stood against the wall, as far away from Dr. Gleason as he could move.

Doctor Gleason approached him and quickly injected him with the antidote to the amnesia drug. Scott could feel the last of the cobwebs clear out of his head, leaving him feeling crisp and clear for the first time in days. Of course, the adrenalin was helping, as well as the sense of guilt lingering from his nightmare. Protect his brother. Top priority. How did these things happen? Scott thought in frustration. Okay, treat it like a problem in logistics, like a rescue. Objective, get Gord OUT of here as fast as possible.

"Gordon, would you please fill this bucket with water?" Gleason handed it to Gordon and pointed to a sink in the back corner. "And please bring the clean towel and the washcloth you'll find there." From behind Gleason, Gordon gave Scott a helpless look and shook his head, to which Scott replied with a glare of his own. _Do__ it, __dammit__ Gordon! __Just__ do__ what __the __man __says!_ Shrugging, Gordon filled the bucket and set it down next to the chair where Gleason indicated, then backed away.

"Is this really necessary?" Scott asked, fixing his eyes on the ceiling as Gleason tilted the chair back. Had to concentrate; can't let distractions in. "I mean, I've already answered your questions about thunderbird technology."

"You've answered some of them," Gleason said, filling a water bottle from the bucket. "And I've managed to confirm that Tracy Enterprises really does sell a flux capacitor. Whether it will do what you describe is another matter."

"The information is solid," Scott ground out. "Just get on with it."

Gleason leaned in over Scott, and added softly. "You do understand that if your engineering specs don't pan out, I'll be forced to retaliate. Here is an example." He splashed the water in the bucket with a free hand and brought up the wet washcloth, shoved it into his victim's mouth and covered his eyes and nose with the towel. He began pouring the water over the cloths until Scott was choking, struggling to draw a breath and fighting against the restraints.

Gordon listened to the sounds. He closed his eyes and fought the impulse to call out on his wristwatch and have Father bring all Hell down on this place and especially on Gleason!

He could willingly kill Gleason right now, but what then? The place was surrounded by a ten foot concrete wall and he'd seen the other orderlies. They were tall, muscular and had a criminal look. Penny's fake credentials for him and Virgil emphasized their alleged prior criminal convictions for violent crimes; that didn't bode well for the rest of the staff. No allies there. The exit doors were solid steel, locked and barred and screw the fire codes. The one he'd tried to pick wouldn't budge. Windows were barred. Employees entered through a guarded checkpoint with metal detectors. He had no doubt the guards were armed. And he wasn't. They didn't have the plans for the building yet, so he didn't know the full layout.

Worst of all, if there was an attack, he, and more importantly Scott, were at the center of the complex. Scott was in no condition for hand to hand combat. They'd know it was International Rescue and Scott would die, immediately.

The sounds stopped and he could hear his big brother retching and coughing. Gordon panted in sympathy and forced his eyes open. If Father needed a witness to this, he had one.

Gleason had tilted the chair upright and removed the cloths back to the bucket. Scott's eyes were closed and he continued to choke. Gleason circled the chair and spoke to his victim. "I only have a few days left to get information out of you, so today will be a longer session; I'm sorry, Scott, but this puts pressure on us both." Gleason turned to Gordon. "Gordon, will you pick up my notepad and take notes? Thank you."

With trembling hands, Gordon complied. Scott opened his eyes and made eye contact with his brother and Gordon knew what they said. Play along, no matter what happens or is asked of you. Don't make waves. Get out alive. Gordon gritted his teeth and nodded to his field commander.

"All right, Scott," said the oblivious Gleason. "We've already discussed the thunderbird propulsion systems, let's go into the incredible speeds attainable by the machines. I understand that Thunderbird Two can exceed mach one, even though she is a heavy equipment carrier. Why is that?"

Scott clamped his lips shut. The flux capacitor wasn't going to cut it this time and he wasn't willing to give real information. Not without a fight. Damn. He wished Gordon weren't here.

Suddenly, Gordon realized that there was a way he could help. The summer he was ten, he'd decided to learn sign language for a Boy Scout badge and Scott had helped him do it. Hoping that Scott still remembered it, he began to sign frantically ::Speeds attained by frictionless coating made from water mambas::

Scott's eyes widened as he saw Gordon's hands moving. Gleason took it for a sign of fear and smiled, arms crossed. "So, Scott, how about it? What do you have to say?"

"Uh…" Scott choked on a laugh and furiously silenced himself. "Frictionless coating."

"Frictionless coating," Gleason repeated. "Did you get that Gordon?"

"Yes sir," Gordon called back.

"How do you make it?" Gleason demanded.

Scott kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling; it was better that way. If he saw Gordon's face, he'd lose it for sure. "It's really a standard aircraft coating but we've discovered that it can be made frictionless by adding a chemical derived from water mambas…." 

The session ended several hours later with Gleason very pleased that a voluble Scott had provided detailed ingredients and formulas for a variety of frictionless coatings made from some surprising ingredients.

"All right, I think that's enough for the day," Gleason beamed at Scott. "I'm very pleased with the results of this session; I'm glad I was finally able to persuade you to cooperate."

Scott smiled tightly. "You made it impossible to refuse," he said.

Gleason picked up the hypodermic and gave Scott his dose of drugs, then repeated his hypnotic suggestion. "Remember, Scott. You're in the asylum because you killed your brother. You deserve to be here because you're a violent man. Your father committed you here and my medicines are helping to keep you from hurting anyone else…You remember nothing about your past and you are a cooperative patient…."

Gordon listened to Gleason reiterating the lies that Scott had been living during his captivity and much became clear. They had to counter that drug or getting Scott out would be that much harder.

Finally, Gleason gestured to Gordon. "Go ahead and release him. You can take him back to his room. And Gordon, you did a very good job today." Gleason smiled. "Your handwriting is quite readable as well. I'd like you to bring Scott back again tomorrow at three, all right?"

Gordon forced a smile and replied, "Yes sir. Three o'clock." He grabbed a drugged Scott by the elbow and led him from the room. 

As he had at lunch, Gordon brought dinner trays for them both. Scott was withdrawn and fearful, with no apparent memory of who Gordon was. Gordon watched in frustration while his brother picked at his meal. Finally, he dressed his brother in nightclothes and tucked him into bed. Then Gordon sat in the dark room by his brother's bedside and waited for Virgil to show up.

Gordon had started to worry, when the bedroom door opened softly. "Virg," Gordon sighed. "Am I glad to see you!" He had to fight the impulse to act like a ten year old and hug his brother, then burst into tears.

Virgil gave him a quizzical look and slid into the room, shutting the door quietly. "What's wrong, Gord? What happened today? Is Scott okay?"

Gordon looked back to where Scott was sleeping and pulled Virgil away from the bed into the far corner of the room. "Scott was questioned today and…and tortured. And I had to be there." Gordon swiped at an eye with the back of his hand. "Gleason needed an assistant."

"You _helped_ torture Scott?" Virgil's voice began to rise.

"Gleason had me take notes. Virg, there wasn't anything I could do! And Scott ordered me to just play along with whatever Gleason wanted; you know how Scott is…" Gordon, his placid, easygoing little brother was falling apart.

Virgil pulled the two chairs away from the table and sat him down. "Okay, Gordon, give me a report. How did you get Scott's memory back? Tell me everything that happened today."

Gordon told him everything about the day, going into more detail about the Treatment Room, the drugs and Scott. He finished with "So now he's an amnesiac again. Unless I mug the nurse for his dose tomorrow too, Scott won't be Scott."

"Oh, yes he will," Virgil replied, fishing into his pocket, pulling out a single capped hypodermic. "Brains found an antidote to the amnesia drug. He's still working on the other one. I need to talk to Scott; we have to plan for tomorrow."

Virgil sat on the side of Scott's bed and shook him gently. To his startlement, Scott jerked upright with a shout, then started to battle Virgil and Gordon away. Finally, Virgil and Gordon moved away from the bed, facing a panicky brother. Gordon hit the light and Virgil moved in slowly, talking in a soft voice. "Scott? Do you remember me? Virgil? You saw me earlier today. I'm not' going to hurt you…"

Scott looked at them both, mistrust on his face. "What do you want?"

"We want to help you," Gordon said. "Remember, we spent the day together? We played cards…"

Slowly, Scott's eyes began to focus and he nodded. "Yeah, I kind of remember. What's that for?" He pointed to the hypodermic Virgil held.

"This will bring your memory back, Scott," Virgil said, moving ever so slowly closer. "If you let me give you this shot, you'll remember who you are."

A look of fear crossed Scott's face. "I don't want to know any more than I already do; I know what I did."

"No, Scott, you don't," said Gordon. "Gleason lied to you. Please let us help."

Scott locked glances with each of his brothers in turn, then gave in, defeated. "Go ahead, you will anyway," he said, holding out his arm.

Virgil quickly uncapped the hypo and administered the shot. He and Gordon watched anxiously as Scott covered his face with his hands. "Damn, that's rough," he said, shakily, then looked up, his blue eyes crystalline. "Tell me you brought more, Virg."

Virgil let out a long breath and collapsed onto the bed, then gave his brother a long hug. "Hi, Scott. God, you've got to stop doing this to us."

Scott laughed unsteadily. "You try it from my end, Virgil. How long does this last? Or am I going to relapse?"

"No, this counteracts the amnesia drug. You're you until you get dosed again," Virgil replied. "We have a good supply. As soon as they administer the drug to you, we'll counteract it. You're back, Scott."

"Good," Scott said. "So, what is the plan? How are we getting me out of here?"

"We're still working on that, Scott," said Virgil. "Your auction is set for the day after tomorrow and the vultures are beginning to gather. Dad may just have to buy you."

"Dad?" Scott exclaimed.

Virgil grinned. "Tracy Enterprises was invited to the auction, so Dad has flown in prepared to buy some International Rescue technology if necessary. This building is very well guarded; we haven't been able to find a way to sneak you out yet."

"Yeah," said Gordon. "If Dad has to buy you, I think this counts as both your Christmas and Birthday present this year."

Scott grinned back, then got serious. "By the way, Gordon, thanks for what you did in the Treatment Room today. I was running out of plausible lies pretty fast."

"Scott, I'm just sorry I didn't take Gleason's head off before he touched you," Gordon said sadly. "I should have killed him where he stood."

Scott shook his head. "No, you did the right thing. You're safe and free right now, which is the most important thing. Gleason told you to be back there tomorrow, didn't he?" At Gordon's nod, Scott continued. "It might get pretty intense, little brother. Just stay calm and do whatever Gleason says. Whatever! Got that?"

Gordon flashed a look at Virgil, who nodded his agreement. "Okay, but I'll help where I can. I'm still the best liar in the family."

"Okay, Gord, you're off shift," said Virgil, checking the time. "I'll stay here with Scott and see you tomorrow." 

After Gordon had left, Virgil turned to Scott and said, "Okay. Now spill."

"What?" Scott asked.

"Everything you haven't told Gordon for fear of worrying him." Virgil pulled a stethoscope out of his pocket. "You can talk while I examine you."

"Virgil, I am fine," Scott insisted. "It's all minor injuries, nothing serious."

"Right," said Virgil. "Take your shirt off and let me be the judge of that. Dad wants a complete status on you."

Grumbling under his breath, Scott complied. While examining him, Virgil went on, "I need to know what you can do physically if we have to run for it. I saw you limping yesterday and Gord said something about a pulled muscle or something." He listened to his brother's chest with the stethoscope. "You've got some fluid in your lungs. Have you been having trouble breathing lately?"

Scott stared straight ahead and said, "Can't say as I've noticed. I've been too busy trying to breathe water."

Virgil looked at his brother, his face unreadable. "The burns are healing, although there may be some scarring. Let me see you stand up."

Scott complied and quickly caught himself when his right leg gave way.

"Okay, you've definitely got some damage to the joint. I don't think you're up to running or climbing." He put the stethoscope away and produced a blood pressure cuff, continuing his exam. "Blood pressure is pretty high, no surprise there. Given the various drugs you've been kept on as well as the stress, I'm surprised you haven't stroked out."

"So, are you prescribing some time in a rest home, doctor?" Scott asked wrily.

"No, I'm only saying that we'll have to find some way to smuggle you out of here. No way can you make a break for it as it stands. Maybe Dad will have to buy you after all," Virgil said.


	7. Chapter 7

Asylum—Chapter 7

"Don't take this wrong," said Scott. "But what happened to Surly, my old orderly?"

Virgil flashed him an angry smile. "Gordon, Alan and I mugged him in the staff parking lot on his way to his car. We knocked him out with a tranquilizer dart and he's currently at an 'unknown location' being interrogated by Alan and Lady Penelope."

Scott's eyebrows raised. "I see. Any good information?"

"So far he's given us names and an outline of his organization as well as a list of customers going back five years. Apparently, he's been an accomplished torturer for some time; you aren't his first victim," Virgil said fiercely.

"You guys didn't torture him did you? I mean, that's the sort of thing I'd expect from the bad guys, not us," Scott said, uncomfortably.

"No need to worry about that," Virgil said. "Alan just told the guy that he if he found out you'd been tortured, he was prepared to do to him exactly the same things he'd already done to you. The guy caved immediately." He paused thoughtfully. "I talked to Alan yesterday. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry as he was when he found out what had happened to you. Lady Penelope, either," he shuddered a bit. "She was scary. I don't think Alan would hurt the guy, but Lady Penelope…?" Virgil grimaced. "Oh yeah," He added, fishing in his pocket. "I almost forgot. Dad wants you to have this."

He held out a small wrapped piece of candy in the palm of his hand.

Scott quirked a smile. "Edible transmitter? You've got to be kidding, Virg!"

Virgil's expression remained solemn. "We…I…don't want to lose you again. So don't argue, just take it."

Scott, seeing that Virgil was dead serious, nodded and popped the candy into his mouth. "I'm glad Brains decided to wrap them in rice paper so I don't have to leave candy wrappers behind…mmmmm….strawberry, my favorite."

Virgil's worried expression eased. He rotated his wrist and called, "Thunderbird Two from Virgil, do you read me?"

Jeff's voice answered. "Thunderbird Two to Virgil, I read you strength five."

"Dad," Virgil said. "Is Scott's transmitter reading properly?"

"Checking now," Jeff's voice faded, then returned. "I show him next to you, Virgil."

"You took yours, too?" Scott asked, his eyes dancing.

"Dad insisted," Virgil hissed back. "We all had to take them."

"What was that, Virgil? Please repeat," Jeff's voice said.

"I said, Good, Father. He is next to me. Would you like to say hello?" Virgil said.

Jeff's face lit up. "Yes, I would, very much."

Virgil took off the watch and handed it to Scott. "Hi Dad," Scott said, a bit uncomfortably. "How are you?"

Jeff studied his son's face carefully, then broke into a smile. "I'm fine now, son. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Dad, really," Scott said. "And I'm really glad that Virgil and Gordon are here."

"Good, we have a plan to get you out, so just sit tight and be patient," Jeff said confidently.

"That's good to hear, Father," Scott replied with a smile. "When will it be?"

"I'm sorry, son, but I can't tell you that. What you don't know, you can't be forced to repeat," Jeff said.

Scott felt his stomach churn. Did he think that Scott had been giving International Rescue secrets away over the past week? Wasn't he trusted any more?

Virgil, refastening his watch, saw Scott's look of pain and said in a reassuring tone, "It's only for your protection, Scott. You still have a date in the Treatment Room tomorrow if we don't break you out of here first." Virgil lifted the communicator to his face and said, "I'll check in with you later, Dad." Virgil out."

Scott nodded dumbly and wondered if they all thought of him as just a victim, someone who needed to be saved. He'd held out so far only because he thought of himself as a hero, saving his brothers from people like Gleason getting their hands on International Rescue's technology.

Scott yawned and Virgil turned to him. "Hey, Scott, you should get some sleep. I've got to go, big brother. Dad has some errands for me, but I'll be back later to check on you. Okay?."

"Okay," Scott said with a sigh. "Thanks, Virg. For everything."

"'Night, bro," Virgil said and pulled the covers up over his brother.

"'Night, Virg," Said Scott. He watched Virgil leave and stolidly lay down, determined to get some sleep before he had to face tomorrow. But at least there was a plan. His captivity would end soon, he was sure.

B1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1

Virgil withdrew from the room and shut the door quietly and found a quiet corner, then stopped and made his full report to Jeff.

"Yeah, Dad, I was right. His right knee is buckling and I think he might be developing pneumonia. His blood pressure is 190 over 116, but once he's home and off the drugs, it should improve," Virgil summarized. "I was right, he isn't up to physical activity at all."

"Okay, son. We'll plan accordingly. We've tentatively scheduled the raid for noon tomorrow. The World Police have arrived and Captain Chester is confident that a lightening strike is the safest way to protect the innocent patients and staff," Jeff said.

"Uh, Dad, there is something else I need to discuss with you," Virgil said. "Gordon may not be in very good shape when he arrives. Dr. Gleason forced him to assist in the Treatment Room today when Scott was there."

"Dear God," Jeff breathed. "What happened? He didn't have to..?"

"No," Virgil reassured him. "Gleason had Gordon take notes, but he was there and witnessed the…um..session. Then, Scott tells me, Gordon used sign language to give Scott prompts throughout the interrogation. Gord came up with some ridiculous technologies, which they bought, hook, line and sinker!" Virgil chuckled. "Scott said it saved his ass."

Jeff smiled, "I'll talk to Gordon when he comes in, then. I never thought his knack for practical jokes would come in handy."

B1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 

As Gordon made his way through the remote area where Thunderbird Two was parked, he was surprised to see Thunderbird One parked near her sister. Surrounding both machines were what looked like hundreds of World Police officers, in body armor. The entire place looked like…no, it was an armed camp.

The cops eyed him suspiciously, but let Gordon through to the door of Thunderbird Two's pod. He found his father consulting with Brains inside. "Gordon, it's good to see you," Jeff said easily. "Care to give your report or would you like a meal first?"

"I'd better give it now, Dad," said Gordon with a weak smile. "I had dinner with Scott."

"Good," said Jeff. "You should know that Virgil has already reported in about your day and Scott's condition." He gave his younger son a compassionate look. "I know this wasn't easy for you, but you really came through for Scott."

"I wish I could feel that way, Dad," said Gordon.

"Scott thinks so, and that's what's important," Jeff said. "Why don't you find a bunk and sack out? We have a busy day tomorrow."

Gordon nodded and went to the small bunk area near the cockpit. He saw that the extra bunks had been set up and there, snoring peacefully were Alan and John. "Johnny! You're back from orbit!" Gordon couldn't help exclaiming.

Alan sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, Dad wants us all in on this tomorrow. He had me go pick him up."

John popped his eyes open. "Hey, Gord. You here too? Where's Virgil?"

"He's in the asylum," Gordon said, getting dressed for bed, glad to take off those damned scrubs at last. "He's keeping Scott company. Oh, and wiring explosives to the doors," he added with a big grin. "Say, Alan, what did you do with ol' Surly?"

"Who?" asked Alan. "Oh, you mean Scott's orderly? He's in jail. The World Police have him now; we turned him over once he gave us the security codes to the building."

B1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 TB1TB1TB1TB1 

Virgil finished wiring the last charge per Jeff's instructions. He'd tried the security codes but, unsurprisingly, they had been changed right after Surly had 'quit.' Feeling satisfied with his night's work, Virgil headed back to Scott's room to sit with him for the night. It didn't matter to him that Scott would sleep through Virgil's night watch; Virg was just glad to be able to be there for his big brother.

To his surprise, the room was empty. The bed was unmade, with blankets and sheets scattered over the floor as if there'd been a struggle.

He flagged down a passing nurse and said, "Hey! What happened to the patient in this room?"

The nurse shrugged. "Dr. Gleason ordered him taken to the Treatment Room. It took two orderlies to haul him away."

"At two in the morning?" Virgil demanded in a panic. Something must have gone very wrong.

"Gleason looked angry about something. Anyway, they took him away about an hour ago," she said and started up the hallway.

"Wait," Virgil said, catching her arm. "Where is the Treatment Room? How do I get there?"

She pointed up the hallway. "Turn right, then right, then left. It's at the end of the cul de sac."

Without stopping to thank her, Virgil ran down the hallways, only slowing as he approached the Treatment Room door.

He heard Scott's voice, crying out, then sobbing before he was halfway down the hallway. In all his life he'd seen his brother sick, injured and afraid but he'd never heard these sounds coming from his lips.

A second voice shouted, "You lied to us! All that engineering was pure bunk according to our engineer. He is here now, so we'll know if you're lying again! Now tell me, what is the source of Thunderbird One's propulsion?"

He heard another voice, softer, say something like "…auction…not much time…get…information…"

The first voice answered, "He'll tell us everything he knows tonight. He'll stay in this room until he either tells us the truth or dies. I don't care which. I don't give a damn about the auction!"

Virgil backed quietly away the way he had come, hearing more cries coming from the room. Finally, when he was out of earshot, he found a private corner and spoke into his communicator-watch. "Thunderbird Two from Virgil, come in Thunderbird Two.."

The watch lit and he could see Gordon's face, with a cheery smile. "Virgil! You'll never guess who's here…hey Virg, you okay? The picture is shaking."

Virgil suddenly realized that his arm and entire body were trembling. "Gordon," he said, his voice breaking. "Get Dad. Get him NOW!"

Gordon looked startled and worried, then disappeared. Jeff's face appeared immediately. "What is it, Virgil?" he asked anxiously.

"They've got Scott…in the Treatment Room. They know that he's been lying to them," Virgil blurted. "We can't wait for morning. You have to come now! I think they're going to kill him."


	8. Chapter 8

Asylum-Chapter 8

Virgil could hear his father yelling to Captain Chester to muster the World Police Officers, that we had to move out _now_! Then he heard commands being bellowed. Father came back onto the screen. "We're mustering now, son. Get out of there. I don't want you in the line of fire," Jeff instructed.

Virgil paused. "But Dad, what about Scott? I can't just leave him…"

"Virgil, you aren't armed. You can't fight your way in to him. Let the professionals handle this," Jeff looked worried, but firm.

"No, Dad. I won't leave him," Virgil said with a facial expression his father remembered from childhood tantrums. Virgil in this mood couldn't be ordered or reasoned with, but he'd try.

"What is your plan, then?" Jeff asked bluntly. "Stay there and you might end up shot or sharing quarters with your brother."

"I'll manage, Dad. Please… trust me on this one," Virgil said firmly. "Just get here, okay?"

Jeff sighed. "Okay. We're on our way. Be careful."

Virgil found an empty room at the head of the hallway with a view of the Treatment Room door, filled with a supply of float-gurneys and other supplies. He hid there with the door open a crack and watched. He decided that when the police did arrive, he'd try to get to his brother first.

He heard the muffled boom of the doors blowing off their hinges, then all the alarms in the building going off simultaneously and guessed that the police had arrived. The Treatment Room door opened. Gleason and a second man appeared, hauling Scott between them, a third man followed, holding a gun, looking around nervously. The third man was dressed in the scrubs used by asylum orderlies and had the hard-looking face and thuggish manner of Scott's former keeper. Virgil could guess what the man's former role had been in the Treatment Room.

"Come on," said Gleason to the other man, urgently. "Security says that the cops are here. I've got a van parked outside. If we can get him out of here, we still have our investment."

Thinking fast, Virgil grabbed a float-gurney from the stack, pasted a pleasant expression on his face and rounded the corner. "Why, Dr. Gleason, do you need help with your patient? I've got a gurney right here," he said pleasantly.

The man with the gun halted and glared at Virgil, but didn't point the gun yet. Gleason waved the thug back and smiled, showing all his teeth. "Ah…Virgil, is it? Thank you, yes that would be very helpful."

Giving Gleason a return smile every bit as insincere, Virgil activated the gurney and heaved his semi-conscious brother up by the armpits and onto the gurney, retaining hold of the end handle. "Where should I transport him, sir?" Virgil said, beginning to walk fast. Gleason pointed toward the double exit doors in the distance, now hanging on their hinges. Virgil walked fast, getting ahead of the men, then picked up even more speed. Finally, to Gleason's shout, Virgil tugged the gurney behind him in a flat run for the doors. He could hear the thug pounding behind him, Gleason trailing far behind.

"Thunderbird Two from Virgil," he gasped into his watch, turning down a side aisle and heard a bullet whistle past his left ear.

Gordon's face appeared. "Thunderbird Two to Virgil, I hear you loud and clear."

"Gord, I have Scott," Virgil shouted, panting and making another turn. "Meet me at exit door number three with Thunderbird Two. Gleason and company are chasing us and they're armed, so drop the ramp for pickup!"

Gordon's face hardened. "FAB. Be right there, Virg."

Ahead, Virgil could see the double doorway, still smoking from the explosives. He put on a burst of speed and hauled the gurney out and down the building's exit ramp and into the dark parking lot as Thunderbird Two landed, exterior searchlights lighting the area. Looking up, he could see Thunderbird One hovering as well, with Alan at the controls.

Another bullet whined past him, then another as the thug got closer. One of the overhead lights pinged and went out in a shatter of plastic as Thunderbird Two's pod door opened and the ramp dropped. John, in body armor and armed with a rifle appeared in the lit entranceway. He took aim at Virgil's pursuers and fired.

Virgil heard a yelp behind him as John squeezed off several more shots. The footsteps behind him veered away and toward a dark-colored van parked near the building. They'd given up the chase.

Virgil sprinted to the ramp and, with John's help, pulled the gurney in. He heard the ramp shut with a loud slam as they reached Thunderbird Two's small medical bay with Scott in tow.

"Hang on," Gordon yelled over the loudspeaker. "I'm taking off after those bastards!"

"Don't let them get away!" Virgil snarled, motioning for John to help him load Scott onto the examining table. "Strap him down, John. I've been through Gordon's take-offs before!" he warned.

"Alan's already in pursuit," Gordon's voice came over the loudspeaker. "But we'll see who runs them to ground first."

"Amen to that," growled John, securing the last safety belt around Scott's body. "Do you need help, Virgil?" he said, pulling a blanket over his brother.

"No, I'm fine," Virgil said, grabbing the side of the table as the 'bird lifted straight up, then banked sharply. "Go help Gordon."

As John ran down the passageway, Virgil shouted after him, hanging on as the floor went sideways, "John, call Dad and let him know we have Scott!"

He heard an "FAB!" float back as John got to the cockpit door. Virgil longed to be piloting his 'bird up front but knew that Scott needed him more.

He flicked on the overhead lights and, pulling the blanket away, began examining his brother. He didn't like what he saw. The knee that had been mildly swollen before was now heavily bruised and four times its size, with more bruising running down Scott's leg. He had a good idea what had been happening in the Treatment Room.

He grabbed an ice pack and an inflatable splint and began to work.

TB2TB2TB2TB2TB2TB2

In the cockpit of Thunderbird One, Alan watched the road carefully. He'd taken off after the van, but it wasn't dawn yet and he'd lost it. He ran his searchlight over the road, cursing under his breath. The people who had hurt Scott were out there and it was up to him to make sure they didn't get away. He was going to make them pay, and pay big for all that they'd done…there! There was the van, speeding along a side road…

He banked Thunderbird One and turned on the loud speaker. "This is Thunderbird One from International Rescue. Stop your car or I'll shoot!"

The van responded by putting on a burst of speed. Alan thumbed open the arms control panel and extended the twin barrels of Thunderbird One's high power guns, then began rapid fire just behind the van. The van sped even faster, cornering sharply at a side road into some trees. Alan used some words that Grandma didn't know he knew and banked to the right, going as low as he dared. Scott would kill him if dented Thunderbird One's fuselage on a tree branch.

He shot some more rapid fire on general principle and was glad to see the van scooting out of cover. "This is International Rescue," he repeated into the loud speaker. "Pull over!"

A bullet pinged off the nosecone and Alan got angrier still. "All right, you assholes," he muttered. "Let's see how you like this!" He sent a continuous round of fire down at the van, which promptly ducked onto another side road. "I gotta spend more time on the simulators," Alan said, focusing on his aim.

Off to his right, Thunderbird Two passed him. "I'll head them off, Al," Gordon said into the radio. "You box 'em in."

"FAB!" Alan replied.

On the road, a quarter mile ahead of the van, Thunderbird Two hovered down to park across the roadway, blocking it. Alan grinned fiercely and drew in behind the van, putting Thunderbird One down behind, cutting off retreat. He grabbed his weapon, opened the hatch and jumped down into the road, coming to a halt behind the stopped van.

The hatch in Thunderbird Two had opened and both John and Gordon were already out and pointing rifles at the occupants of the van. The van doors opened and three men got out.

"Gleason!" Gordon called and gestured to his right with his rifle. "You kneel there, hands over your head!" The van's driver moved off to one side. "You! Who are you?" Gordon demanded of the man in the van's front seat.

"Wilson Sechrist, I'm an aeronautics engineer," the second man called out. "Hey…I didn't have anything to do with any of this."

"He was in the room, Gordon," Virgil called from the door of Thunderbird Two's pod. He walked down the ramp and stood next to Gordon. "He was in the Treatment Room with Gleason and that thug."

Gordon's lips tightened and he nodded. "All right, Mr. Sechrist, you kneel over there to my left and put your hands over your head." All the Tracy sons watched stonily while Sechrist obeyed.

The thuggish man finally climbed out of the car, hands up. He was unwise enough to try to explain himself. "Hey, guys," said the man. "I'm just a hospital orderly, y'know? I gotta record, so it's hard to find work and I take what I can. I'm not involved in any of this…"

Virgil's face looked thunderous when he addressed the thug. "What did you use on my brother? A steel pipe or was it a tire iron?" At the looks Gordon, Alan and John were shooting him, Virgil explained, holding himself stiffly. "Scott's patella, his knee-cap, looks broken. That takes a lot of force and something heavy. It's a gang method of punishment." He turned to his brothers. "And I saw him leave that room with Gleason and Sechrist."

"All right," said a white-faced Gordon. "You!" he pointed the rifle at the thug. "You stand right where you are. You're just as guilty as your friends."

"So, what do we do with them?" Alan asked coldly.

"Shoot 'em," said John, his voice ice.

"Now wait a minute," Gleason said with an ingratiating smile. "That's murder; I'd understood that International Rescue stood for life saving."

Gordon looked back at Gleason with a smile that never reached his eyes. "I'll have nightmares for a long time about that day in the Treatment Room when I got to watch you at work, _Doctor_Gleason. You hurt someone I love, a better man than you are. From where I'm standing, you are a bug to be exterminated, a mad dog to be put down. That isn't murder, it's justice." He lifted the rifle and took aim at Gleason's head. "At least your death will be quick, not like what you had planned for my brother."

John aimed his weapon at Gleason, in case Gordon missed the shot.

Virgil nodded and aimed his gun at the thug. "I won't kill you, Mr. Torturer. I'll just take out your right knee. It'll balance things."

The engineer looked around anxiously and saw Alan's weapon pointed solidly at him. "You didn't think you'd get away with this, did you?" Alan said softly. "Virgil said you sat in that room tonight, so you watched everything and did nothing." He cocked his gun and took aim.

"No," said a gravelly voice from somewhere behind Virgil.

"Scott?" Virgil looked back and saw Scott standing at the top of the ramp, balancing unsteadily on a pair of crutches kept in the medbay. His right leg was encased in an air-cast from thigh to ankle. Virgil had cut his shirt away and the burn scars looked black in the harsh light of Two's spotlights.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Virgil said.

"I can't let you do this," Scott said, his voice thready. He coughed and lost his balance, then caught himself again. "International Rescue is about saving lives, not taking them. Don't let this…this criminal…make you as bad as he is. We stand for something; don't take that away. Please." He wavered and caught himself again. "Please…make all that I've gone through _worth_something."

Gordon paused for a long minute, then lowered his gun, eyes swimming with unshed tears. Slowly, John did the same, as did Virgil. In relief, Gleason started to move, when Alan said sharply. "Don't move. I've still got you covered." At his brothers' startled looks he said. "Well, we aren't going to let them go, are we? I mean, okay, I won't shoot them. Shouldn't we call the police to come pick them up?"

Scott gave a laugh, startling his brothers even more. "Yes, Alan, you're right. John, would you call the World Police and let them know we have some criminals for them to pick up?"

While Gordon and Alan held the criminals at bay, Virgil climbed the ramp and caught his older brother before he could fall down. "Come on, back to bed for you," Virgil said grimly. "I hope you didn't put any weight on that leg."

"No, Virg, I didn't," Scott said patiently. "I know how it feels when I do. Trust me, I'm not touching it."

Soon they heard the sirens outside and by the time Virgil had Scott back on the bed and tucked in. Jeff arrived with an army of World Police.

To the boys' satisfaction, Gleason and his companions were quickly hustled into an armored transport. "All right, where's Scott?" Jeff asked, and was led into the Thunderbird Two medbay.

As he approached the medbay, Jeff heard two familiar voices arguing.

"You need the fluids, dammit, Scott. Why are you always this way when I have to treat you?" Virgil's voice declared.

"I'm fine, Virg. I don't need any more needles and drugs and my leg doesn't really hurt that much…Arghhhh!...you touched it, damn you! I don't want morphine, I've been doped up for days and I don't…"

Both men stopped arguing when Jeff entered the infirmary. "Hello, boys," their father said with a smile. "I'm glad that you both sound so energetic."

Scott was laying back against the pillows while Virgil held an IV apparatus in his gloved hands. "Dad, will you tell him to quit arguing?" Virgil said with a huff. "I'm trying to give him some fluids and pain meds. He'll need them once we're airborne; he's just living on adrenaline right now."

Jeff's eyes drank in his eldest son. He was battered but unbowed, his blue eyes flashing in his argument with Virgil. Jeff gave a low laugh and said to both, "Virgil, why don't you hold off for now. You or Gordon can give him something during the flight if he asks for it."

Scott grinned in a mix of relief and triumph. "Hi Dad," he said. "It's good to be back." Jeff sat down by his son's side, while Virgil grumblingly moved to put the equipment away.

Soon, Virgil left for the cockpit and Thunderbird Two took off. Scott, clearly exhausted, dropped off to sleep. Jeff sat quietly, watching his eldest sleep while they winged their way home.

**EPILOGUE**

"All right, everyone, quiet down," Jeff Tracy said to his family gathered in the lounge. "We need to have finish the debriefing on Scott's rescue." He looked around gratefully at all his sons gathered in the safety of home. Scott, laughing over something with Alan, sat in a lounge chair, his crutches tucked next to him, leg in a long cast.

"The first thing I need to do is to apologize to all of you and especially to Scott," Jeff said gravely. Scott looked up in surprise.

"Much of what happened to you, son, was my fault," Jeff said heavily. "I send you out to be the face and voice of International Rescue but take more time and effort to protect the machines than I do you." Jeff paused, gathering his breath. "I've paid for that."

"Dad," Scott protested, "You haven't done anything wrong. I was armed. They just got me with a tranquilizer dart."

"They got you," Jeff said with pain in his voice. "And it was sheer luck that we got you back. That won't happen again, son, I promise. I have Brains designing more sensitive security alarms for Mobile Control. It may be that we will require all operatives to take their edible transmitters before each mission…" He stopped, hearing the chorus of groans coming from his sons. "I said, we're working on it. I know that you've said you don't want to be tagged like migrating ducks, but this is a real security issue!" He paused, taking a deep breath, then continued. "Lastly, while Gordon's idea was a sound one, I can see a need for some fake engineering specs should any of you be interrogated again; some that will hold up in the light of day yet be entirely untruthful. Brains will be putting those together and each of you..." He spoke louder to be heard over the uproar. "Each of you will memorize it and be prepared to recite it on demand. Lastly, the United States Military has had a training program for the last hundred years intended to prepare soldiers for the possibility of capture and interrogation. SERE, I believe it's called. Well, I've called in a few favors with the World President and you are all signed up for a private training to take place at their facility in the United States. And that includes Brains and Tintin." He ran his eye over his entire family, gathered there and stopped at Scott. "Scott is exempt, since he's already had the training and come through the experience itself."

"Thanks Dad," Scott said with a crooked smile. "I don't think I can do that again. And can I at least be part of the Mobile Control design team before you lock me up in a plexiglass box?"

Jeff smiled back. "You will be part of the team, son, don't worry. And now, to other news." Jeff's face grew serious again. "I'm very sad to say that Gleason has bailed his way out of jail and disappeared."

All the sons straightened up in their seats. "They let him out?" demanded Alan.

"I'm afraid so," said their father. "He had a very good lawyer and convinced the judge that he wasn't a flight risk. This increases our security concerns and I'm almost of a mind to continue International Rescue's hiatus until he's behind bars again. But no," he said in response to the shouts of his sons. "No, I've decided that International Rescue will return to its normal activities as soon as Alan can transport John back to Thunderbird Five. All right? Then you are all dismissed," said Jeff.

Scott remained in his chair while his brothers milled around him. Gordon appeared next to him and handed him a slip of paper. Scott looked up at him in puzzlement. "What's this?"

Gordon smiled impishly. "Go ahead and read it."

Scott unfolded it, read it, then sat bolt upright. "What the hell is this, Gord? I do not owe you five hundred thousand dollars!"

"It's my poker winnings," Gordon said blithely. "Remember that day we played poker?"

"For imaginary money, Gordon! Besides, I was drugged up to my eyebrows!" Scott bellowed. "I am not paying you a red cent."

Jeff watched the squabble with an indulgent smile. Life was at last back to normal in his home.

**Two Weeks Later**

Virgil, just returned from a rescue, found Scott sitting on the patio with book and drink. He took the chair next to him.

"Hey, Scott," Virgil said. "How's the leg?"

"It's getting better, gradually," said Scott. "Brains says it's going to take a while to heal up. How about you? How'd the rescue go?" He smiled. "Which flavor of edible transmitter did you take today?"

Virgil gave a comic frown. "I got stuck with licorice. Makes my teeth black." He paused and looked out at the ocean for a moment. "Scott, when I was at Mobile Control today, one of the locals handed me an envelope addressed to you. Said he'd been given it by a man in the crowd." He handed it to his brother.

Scott gave Virgil a look and took the envelope. It was addressed to "Scott—International Rescue". He ripped it open and pulled out the single sheet of notepaper. It said "I'll see you again. Gleason".

Scott closed his eyes and handed it back to Virgil. "You didn't find the guy in the crowd, did you?" he said softly.

"No," Virgil replied, reading the note. "Brains is checking the video but that won't help at this point. All we can do at this point is increase security; maybe station two of us at Mobile Control instead of one.

Scott nodded and looked bleakly out to sea again as Virgil went on. "We'll get him next time, Scott. And maybe this time we really will shoot him."

.


End file.
